


Convictions

by Tyellas



Series: History is hard to know [10]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Implied/Referenced Slavery, glimpses of Furiosa and Toast, queer history after the Fall, talky genfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-19 21:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10648074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyellas/pseuds/Tyellas
Summary: Two of the most loquacious denizens of the Wasteland, the Outcrier and the History Man, have a contentious chat in Gastown.





	Convictions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrincelyDisaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincelyDisaster/gifts).



> _ok but just imagine the history man trying to get through a crowd to catch up with the rest of the citadel entourage, he’s gentle at first and very courteous, but the gastown mobs are unrelenting and full of commuters, and he gets frustrated and starts almost yelling for people to just get out of his way, like “wordburger: move, I’M GAY!” -_
> 
>  
> 
> Who can resist a prompt like that? Have a fic where two side characters from the Mad Max 'verse overlap...

It was a change for the Outcrier, watching a show that he hadn’t put on.

Today the new Citadel had sent its crew to Gastown. Half the smellies had dragged themselves into the morning sun to watch the Citadel drive in: trying to peep a shine breeder or, better yet, the chrome-hot Imperator. Strolling around after a late night that had turned into morning, the Outcrier decided he’d stick around.

Nobody knew how to put on a spectacle like he did, wrangling Gastown's Murderdome fights and demolition races. Not-so-Immortan Joe, the Citadel's former warlord, had come close. But Joe's show was over. His former Imperator, Furiosa, had (to Gastown's eyes) ripped Joe's face off and claimed the Citadel for herself. By the time Gastown's factions settled down, the Citadel remained Gastown's chief trading partner.

But did they have _style_?

The Outcrier would be the judge of that.

Good thing he and his mate, ‘Lectricity Boy, were both tall. They could see Gastown's bridge and gates just fine over the masked, warped, and dented heads of the Gastown crowd. He slung one arm over ‘Lec’s shoulder. ‘Lec’s hands were still free for his weapon, a long cattle prod hooked up to the generator he always hauled.

Gastown’s bridge creaked beneath the Citadel’s rig. The massive tanker truck had a wreath of real leaves on the front grill, a brazen reminder that the Citadel still had the aqua-cola and the green. There were some War Boys, swapping the rig’s full aqua-cola tank for an empty one. Painted half-lives, not a patch on ‘Lecricity’s genuinely pale perfection. The Outcrier knew you could always please an audience with a glimpse of a breeder. The Citadel had one at the Rig’s wheel today, the Knowing. As he weighed having the Knowing drive in one of his races, Furiosa leapt out. She placed herself between the crowd and the Knowing, all protective-like. The Outcrier smirked. Had the Bag of Nails picked herself a mate at last? That would take her edge off.

The Bag of Nails, and her breeder mate, and a couple others met one of Gastown’s interchangeable masked figures. They seemed to have plans. Guards ringed the lot of them as they headed for the oil refinery’s heart. It was just interesting enough to make him curious. The Outcrier strode after them. He knew ‘Lectricity Boy would follow him. ‘Lec always did.

A figure from the Citadel fell behind their guarded group. The Outcrier recognized him: the Citadel’s History Man. The bald tattoo-covered wretch was an uglier customer than usual, pausing to cough up some fumes. A beefy pair, more Gastown mates arm-in-arm, cut ahead of History, nearly knocking the frail old man over. He reeled, caught himself, began to protest. “Wordburger: _Move! I’m gay, too –_ “ But he stopped, doubling over with coughing.

The weird phrase was familiar. The Outcrier could almost hear his cranky uncles saying it when he’d been a sprog in their all-bloke biker gang. He stepped up. “Stand there long enough, you’ll get robbed, old man.”

The History Man jerked upright, eyes snapping to outraged life. “The Outcrier! You fucking…fuck!” He must be feeling the fumes if that was the best Before-time insult he could come up with.

“Here to make more trouble for the Citadel? You made me a chrome profit last time you came to Gastown! Ya hear me?”

History glared up at him. “You’re so loud I can’t not hear you. They can hear you at the Bullet Farm.”

“Good to know I’ve still got it.” The Outcrier cocked his thumb towards Gastown’s center. “C’mon. Walk you to the Tower. Get you there in one piece, so I can see what happens this time.”

History weighed the crowded laneways and sighed, resigned. “All right, we’ll walk. Just keep a leash on your blue-eyed boy, there.”

The Outcrier beamed, pleased to have ‘Lectricity admired. “What were you wordburgering about?”

“A wordburger is a word or phrase from the Before-Time. Something that needs some history to be understood, in this Wasteland,” said History.

“I meant the second part.”

“The gay part? You’re asking me about that?” The History Man promptly folded over again, gasping and wheezing.

The Outcrier rolled his eyes. “Answer the question, then you can die on me.”

History spluttered a bit more. It was impossible that he would be laughing at one of Gastown’s top dogs like the Outcrier. He might have had a bemused edge when he managed to speak. “In the Before-Time, when two people loved each other _very much_ , and neither of them was what this postapocalyptic Wasteland so euphoniously terms ‘a breeder’, we said they were gay.”

“Why’s that need a wordburger? Can’t get more normal than that.”

“In the Before-time, before things went fukushima, that was illegal on the ground we’re walking on. Against the law.”

The Outcrier stopped cold. ‘Lec, caught off guard, rammed into him. He steadied ‘Lec with a hand, kept his grip tight. “The hell you say!”

“I am not making this up. For a time, merely holding hands could get you the bash or the lockdown. Even death.”

Fukushima was right. The Outcrier needed a cigar to deal with this. ‘Lec gave him a light automatically. After a reviving draw of smoke, he began to stride again, rumbling, “That’s crazy, all right. Must’ve been a Murderdome every day. No wonder the old-timers schlanged everything up. I’d heard it was better after the Pox-Eclipse. This proves it!”

“Wordburger: _hashtag-it-gets-better_. It was getting better for a while, Before. Then the world started its downwards slide. My mate pointed out that the powers that were needed scapegoats.”

“You had a mate,” the Outcrier repeated.

History seemed to read his mind. Amused again, he said, “I was young, once. The best of mates: a better self. He was a man for any world, fallen or not. He could camp, hunt, Tell, calm a raiders’ crew with a word…”

All past words, the Outcrier noted. “So what did him in?”

“If you want to get technical, the Immortan did. The same way his indifference killed a thousand other suffering Wretches.”

“You must’ve been happy when the Bag of Nails ripped old Joe’s face off,” the Outcrier mused.

History said, drily, “It was a little late for that. But, you know…we’d had a life together. Everything after that feels like extra.” His expression went distant as he took in the Gastown passers-by. “Still, you’re right. There are changes for the better. Reasons for hope.”

The Outcrier sliced the air with his hand. “Don’t talk to me about Hope. She was the worst concubine I ever handed out for a race prize. Mouthy sourpuss.”

“There is redemption in this wasteland of a world. I’ve witnessed it where I least expected it. And then,” the old man shook his head, “There’s _you_.”

“Joe-damn right. What I do works. I’m not changing for nobody! I’ll die like I live, big and full-life.” The Outcrier shrugged. “Some day, some up and comer won’t like my deal, he’ll give me an introduction to Mr. Dead.”

There was a strangled sound of misery to his left. The Outcrier gave ‘Lec a startled glance. He hadn’t thought it was possible for the generator boy to go paler, but he had. Caught out, ‘Lec flushed slightly, then did his best to glare poison at the old man.

History peered back at ‘Lectricity with a wry smile. “So certain? With your backup, Outcrier, you may be around longer than you expect.”

“Even if I make old bones, I’ll still be a looker when I’m dead, compared to you walking around right now. Speaking of which, we’re here.” He gestured grandly at the smoke-grimed, cracked doors of Gastown’s central tower.  

“Wordburger: _it’s business time._ I appreciate the walk,” said History.

The Outcrier grinned. “Got a Gastown burn to send me on my way?” If the bloke couldn’t bring it now, he’d go place a bet on History keeling over soon.

History’s voice had its rich depth again. “You’ve the courage of your convictions. A pity you’re a nihilistic slaver. Until next time, you pie-faced old bugger.” With that, History went to bluster his way past the doors’ guards.

The Outcrier whipped his cigar out of his mouth before he bit through it in frustration. He growled to ‘Lec, “Old? Old!? Where does that nuke-burned crank get off, calling _me_ old –“

A generator roared as it stuttered to life, followed by an electric crackle. ‘Lectricity Boy had lit up his cattle prod. He pointed the crackling metal length at History’s back, cocked a brow at the Outcrier.

Skewering History would put one over on the Citadel. But the Outcrier’s moods changed in an instant. Besides, another phrase from his biker boyhood had come back to him.  He weighed ‘Lec’s wrist with his hand, guided the weapon down. “Let him go. Wordburger _: We’ve all lost someone we loved…_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> In my 'verse, the History Man and the Outcrier last squared off in [_Fear and Loathing in Gastown,_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6654655) especially in Chapter 2. This encounter here takes place post-[ _Citadel Nights_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7560889). 
> 
> Wordburgers: _It's business time_ \- Flight of the Conchords song lyric. _hastag-it-gets-better_ \- pro-queer youth social media campaign. _We've all lost someone we love..._ Abbreviated quote from _Mad Max: Road Warrior_.


End file.
